


Cruel Hope

by Hey_there_bud



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood, Gen, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hey_there_bud/pseuds/Hey_there_bud
Summary: Another client, another case, shouldn’t be anything different. A woman comes to them with a break in, and the dynamic duo solves it in only a few hours. How it’s solved could be described as unfortunate, however.
Relationships: could be romantic if you wanted, or if you just squint with half effort, platonic Johnlock
Kudos: 2





	Cruel Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I wrote this a while back, almost made one of my friends cry. Anyway, decided to post it because why not?
> 
> Trigger warnings:   
> Fighting  
> Blood  
> Gunshot  
> Near-character death
> 
> I think that’s it, if I’ve missed any please let me know. 
> 
> The perspective switches around a lot, sorry if it’s confusing.

It started not 12 hours ago, as the first snow fell on the streets of London. A client marched nervously up the steps of 221b Baker Street. They were young, not more than 30 years old. They rang the bell, and we opened the door to a - fairly tall - young woman. She was dressed in warm clothing; jeans, a red sweater, worn black beanie covering a head of long brown hair. 

We welcomed her in and she sat in the client chair. After a few moments of expectant staring between the three of us, Sherlock broke the silence. “Proceed,” he said. 

The woman shifted her gaze to look at my flatmate directly, before starting. “My name is Emma Hope, thank you for hearing me out. Earlier this week there was a break in at my flat, I live off of Abbey street with my dog. When it happened I was out at the grocery store. I came back to find my house ransacked, but nothing seemed to be missing.”At this point Ms. Hope’s eyes started to water, and she quickly wiped the tears away with her gloved hand. “Nothing, but my dog. He’s a greyhound, the sweetest thing in the world. His name is Barkley, he’s 5 years old and is all I’ve had since getting out of college.”

My friend seemed like he was about to shoo her away until she mentioned the dog. Now he sat on the edge of his seat, giving our client with his full attention. “Did Barkley have any sort of social media presence, Ms. Hope?” he asked. She shook her head in response. 

“No,” she said. “But I took him on walks, a lot of people have seen him in passing. I’ve put out a missing dog posters, but no one has contacted me.” Ms. Hope was looking down, fidgeting with her sleeves, and clearly suppressing tears that were begging to let loose. 

“We’ll find Barkley for you, ma’am,” I said before Sherlock could let out another comment. This earned me an unreadable glance from my stoic companion, and a relieved look from Ms. Emma. 

“Thank you so much! I’ve heard you guys are the best, I have all the confidence you’ll bring him back.” We exchanged contact information before Ms. Emma made her way back home, clearly less anxious than when she arrived. 

When I glanced over to my flatmate, he was still staring at the woman walking away. “She was lying,” he said before turning towards his room. “I need to think, we’ll leave for her flat at 7 tonight.” 

“Sherl-” I was cut off by the sound of his door shutting. At this point it was pointless, he had no doubt retreated into his mind palace. 

\----------------------

Ms. Emma Hope had walked in clearly on edge. This wasn’t usual for their clients, so it had not alarmed him immediately. When she sat down, after being told to proceed with her story, she had kept her gaze constant the entire time. Her eyes were glazed over and expressionless, as if she had rehearsed that part of the story. After moving onto Barkley, however, she seemingly lost the ability to sit still. Her eyes were bouncing around the flat, her leg began to bounce, and she pulled her sleeves over her hands. Higher emotional response, the consulting detective noted. 

Sherlock went through various theories in his mind palace until 7 sharp, at which point he grabbed his jacket, scarf and gun before emerging into the sitting room, where John was already waiting. “Ready to go?” his flatmate asked. Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a single text before nodding. 

\---------------------

The cab ride to Ms. Hope’s flat was spent in relative silence. John could tell Sherlock was still thinking, and there was no use in trying to make conversation when he was like this. At about 7:30 the driver pulled over on Abbey street and we got out. As we were approaching the flat Sherlock finally broke the silence. “Stay alert, you might need to use your gun,” he said. 

John didn’t see what the danger could be, but his flatmate has yet to be wrong, so he obliged. It was like Sherlock to know John carried his pistol with him to every crime scene. 

The pair knocked on the door and was answered by Ms. Hope. She was tense, much like the woman who had walked up the steps not 6 hours ago. “Do come in,” she said. The men obliged, taking note of everything as they entered. 

“You said you had cleaned everything up after the break in, yes?” Sherlock asked. 

“Yes,” she replied as she led the two into the main part of the flat. “I needed to see if anything was taken, other than the obvious.” The woman gave the two a tour of the flat. “And that’s all there is to it. Not huge, but feel free to look around as long as you want.” 

They were left in the bedroom. There were a few pictures on the dresser, the bed was made, and a single window facing the road. The walls were a faded green, and the open curtains were a transparent lilac. In the corner sat a dog bed, along with toys placed in a basket nearby. 

John made sure Ms. Hope was out of earshot before addressing the situation. “Ok, why am I supposed to be on alert?” he whispered. 

Sherlock had the same idea, making sure there was no one in earshot before responding. Pleased with his conclusion, he said “Her dog is missing, yes. But she knows where he is. Look at the dresser.” Sherlock gestured to a spot where the dust was disturbed, about the right place for a missing picture. “She’s keeping something from us.” 

“And you think this might be a trap?” John said. 

“Obviously,” Sherlock responded. His partner nodded in understanding, and they continued to look around the room for a few more minutes. One picture showed a younger Emma, probably about 8, with a boy a little older than her and a woman all staring at the camera and smiling. In another it’s just her and the boy sitting in a room surrounded by toys. Other trinkets were sprinkled across the dresser, but nothing else stood out. 

As they were searching, headlights could be seen through the darkness from outside the window. “Sherlock,” John said, “we’ve got a few friends coming.” 

The man in question walked over to see three men walking towards the door of Ms. Hope’s flat. “The more the merrier,” he said. “Be prepared, there’s a dog in the back of that car.” Down the hall they could hear the door opening, followed by multiple sets of footsteps coming their way. The two had their hands hovering over their holsters when the bedroom door burst open. 

Three men stood in the doorway, along with Ms. Emma Hope. All four persons wore a determined expression upon their features, although only one spoke. “Almost sorry,” said Ms. Hope before departing down the hall. 

At that moment, the three men advanced and in a second five guns were drawn. While the detective duo merely had pistols, the trio all held small hunting rifles. No one dared make a move for fear of a firefight emerging. Only Sherlock Holmes spoke up. He addressed the man in the center. “Jefferson Hope Jr., I presume?” he said. 

The man in question seemed stunned. “Yes,” he spat. “And you are Sherlock Holmes, the reason my father is dead.” When Mr. Hope spoke, the entire trio aimed at the taller detective. The only response given was a scoff. 

“He had a heart abnormality, it was unlikely he would make it three extra days,” Holmes stated. 

“Sherlock, do you really think right now is the best time for that argument?” John said. He was trying to think of possible escape routes, and he did not need to get shot before they found one. As if the universe had read his mind, several police cars could be heard rushing down the street towards their location. 

Sherlock checked his watch. “Just on time,” he said. After receiving confused glances from everyone in the room, he expanded. “I asked a few friends with the police force to be here at 8, and there they are,” he said, nodding towards the window. 

Hope’s trio shared a glance, and advanced on the two simultaneously. “Vatican cameos!” Sherlock shouted. Not a second later, the detective duo was fending off their aggressors. Hope went after Sherlock, while the other two ganged up on the soldier. 

The next few minutes happened in a blur. The consulting detective found Hope to be a decent fighter, and had some difficulty fending him off. He both landed and received multiple blows. Hope managed to get a hold of his scarf and use it to put him in a choke hold. Sherlock was vaguely aware of a yelp from the other side of the room. The rush of adrenaline and one strike to the kidney later and Sherlock was able to ground Hope. Pulling out handcuffs from his jacket pocket, he left Hope for Lestrade to collect in a few minutes. 

“John?” he said. Looking around, he saw one of Hope’s buddies on the ground with a strike to the back of the head. The final member of the trio and his flatmate were nowhere to be seen. Then there was a gunshot. “John?!” he repeated. Still no answer. 

That’s when he started running. He raced down the hall. Through the sitting room. Out the front door. His friend was still nowhere in sight. Luckily it was still snowing, so he could follow the footprints. 

They led to an alley even darker than the present night, where he found his friend alone on the ground. As Sherlock got closer, his worst fear became a reality. There was John Watson, his flatmate, his first friend, the first one to give him a chance, sitting there in a puddle of red snow. 

“JOHN!!” Sherlock rushed to his side and took his pulse. He was still alive, but the pulse was faint. Upon closer inspection, the bullet went through his left shoulder, just above the collarbone. Okay, he thought. You can do this. You can do this, Sherlock, he told himself. After a deep breathe, he took his scarf off and wrapped it around the wound. Now apply pressure. 

By now Lestrade had arrived at the scene, Sherlock could hear him calling his name. “Over here, Lestrade!” he shouted. His eyes started to water as he turned his attention back to his friend. It’s just the cold, he told himself. 

Lestrade’s footsteps could be heard in the snow, rushing to the sound of Sherlock’s voice. He came into the alley, and before he could say anything Sherlock spoke. “Call an ambulance. There are two suspects up in the bedroom, one is handcuffed and the other is out cold.” 

The detective inspector wanted to do anything, say anything, to console his friend. Instead, he responded, “O-okay,” and did as he was told. 

“There are doctors coming, just have to hold through for 8 minutes,” Sherlock said. He didn’t know if he was talking more to John or himself. He took a pulse again. It was almost gone. 

“Oh no, you are not dying like this,” this time he knew exactly who he was talking to. Sherlock immediately started performing CPR, with tears streaming down his face. It’s just the cold, it’s just the cold, it’s just the cold. He needed to stay focused. 30 compressions, 2 revive breaths, 30 compressions, 2 breaths, 30 compressions, 2 breaths. 

His heart broke with every crack he heard, but he needed to keep going. So he kept going, and going, and going. It was only 8 minutes but felt like an eternity. When emergency services arrived, Sherlock couldn’t hear anything but his rapid heart rate or see anything but his best friend’s form, lying motionless in a dark alleyway. Lestrade had to tear him away for the doctors to place John on a stretcher. 

Sherlock had to focus to hear the beating of the heart rate monitor when they hooked it up. He stood there for what would have been hours, if he didn’t feel a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Lestrade observing him. He could only imagine how he looked, standing in the snow, covered in John’s blood, with his tear streamed face. It’s just the cold. 

“He’ll be okay,” he said. “I talked to the doctors, you saved his life.” Sherlock didn’t believe him. He wouldn’t believe him until he saw with his own eyes. So he gave Lestrade a weak nod and walked over to the road to hail a cab. At this point it couldn’t be past 9, there had to be cabs. Lestrade once again walked beside him. “How about I give you a ride to the hospital?” he offered. 

Sherlock thought about it for a minute, before accepting. “One rule,” Lestrade said. “We’re stopping by Baker Street to get you a change of clothes. He won’t be ready for visitors for hours, and you need to get out of that.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but simply nodded in agreement. He did everything Lestrade told him without thinking. It was the quietest his mind had ever been, but the loudest at the same time. The absence of thoughts was deafening. Lestrade was kind enough to not attempt conversation during the drive, but put on a radio station. The bad music was better than silence, so Sherlock didn’t mind. 

They arrived at the hospital, and Lestrade walked in with Sherlock. He talked with the receptionist, who said to sit in the waiting room and they would call when John was ready for visitors. 

So that’s how Sherlock landed here, waiting at 2 am for John to wake up. Not 12 hours ago, everything had been okay. Now here he was, the man dead since the day he and John had met, nearly killing them again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks all for reading if you’ve made it this far! Sorry about the ending, might continue the story again later. If you see any typos or have any writing tips please let me know! 
> 
> Have a great day! :)


End file.
